


Inevitable as the Tide

by ArtemisRayne



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drowning, Fantasy elements, Folklore Elements, Gun Violence, Hispanic!Jack, Hispanic!Spot, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Realism, Major Character Injury, Mer!Davey, Merpeople, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 02:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: For several long seconds, Jack can only stare, because he is either seriously tripping balls or there's a fuckingmermaidlaid out unconscious on the beach in front of him. A mermaid - or merman, maybe? - who looks suspiciously similar to the mysterious stranger that saved Jack from drowning.





	Inevitable as the Tide

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm posting this just to get it off my computer. I've been fussing around with this thing for ages and can never quite get it to exactly where I wanted it to be, but I still kind of like the way it turned out. 
> 
> TWs in the end notes.

Since he was old enough to remember, Jack Kelly has always been in love with the sea. He grew up shadowed by the towering steel and glass of New York City, always feeling like just one more face in the claustrophobic crush of life clogging the streets. For him, the ocean was freedom. It was wide open expanses stretching to every horizon; it was color and life, every shade of blue and green in constant motion, edged in gold by the sun or silver by the stars and moon; it was solitude, the feeling of a boat alone in the middle of nothing, just man and nature. For a kid like Jack, the ocean was everything his life as a forgotten child of the system wasn't.

So the moment he turned eighteen, Jack packed up all of his meager belongings and hopped the first bus out of the city. He bounced through a couple of towns, shifting through jobs as he found them, until he finally landed in a tiny fishing town on the northern coast. Naturally good with his hands, it didn't take long to find a spot as a mechanic aboard one of the many fishing vessels, and as he settled into town, he quickly made friends with a handful of locals. Now, two years later, he couldn't be happier with his life by the sea.

That said, the ocean is not always the friendliest mistress.

"Kelly, get your ass down there and help Conlon with the equipment, wouldja?" the ship's captain, a balding and irritable man called Weisel - or Weasel when he's out of earshot - bellows at the passing mechanic.

"_Cállate_, I's on my way," Jack snaps back because that's where he was already headed anyway. 

The summer storm swept up on them faster than expected, tossing the ship around on towering waves that splash over the sides. As Jack sprints across the slick deck, a fork of lightning splits the sky, and the crash of thunder is so loud he can feel it vibrate in his bones. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, an adrenaline rush unlike anything Jack's ever known as they battle to hold their ground against something so much more powerful than them.

Down on the deck, Spot Conlon - Jack's closest friend, on and off the ship - is fighting to lash down all the equipment while the bucking ship tries to send everything skidding across the surface. Jack immediately jumps in, grabbing the other side of the ropes to help tie it into place. When they secure it, Spot acknowledges the assistance with a sharp nod before they move on to the next piece. It's exhausting work, the pair of them slipping and stumbling on the wet metal as the ship lurches like a rodeo bull beneath them.

The storm only grows worse the longer they work, the rain kicking up into a torrential downpour and lightning coming more frequently. All of the crewmen are almost clinging on for dear life at this point, soaked through and scrambling to finish up their chores so they can retreat to the relative safety of the crew quarters below deck. "C'mon, Cowboy, _vámonos_," Spot bellows over the storm as they lash down the last of the cargo boxes on their row. "That's gonna have to do. Ain't stayin' out here longer in that." Just as he says it, another spike of lightning spears down to strike the water only a dozen meters out.

"I'm comin'," Jack agrees, following his shorter friend as the ship rises and slams down over a hulking swell.

It all happens so fast that Jack can't even process what's going on until it's over. As the ship pitches sideways over a wave, the rope around a crate full of old netting comes free. The crate skids across the deck and smashes into Jack's legs, pinning him momentarily to the side rail of the ship before gravity takes over, and both he and the box tip over the edge. There's a split second where Jack's freefalling, and he hears someone shout his name, and then he collides with the freezing water.

The impact knocks the air out of him, and it only gets worse when the crate lands on him a second later. Jack can't tell which way is up, the churning water sending him tumbling in every direction. He flails, fighting his way out from under the nets that have spilled out onto him. It takes what feels like ages to get his head and arms free, but when he tries to kick out for the distant surface, his legs won't move. Looking down in panic, he finds his legs tangled in a net, ropes twisted around his feet and ankles and one calf. The sodden cords are heavy, dragging him down, and his heart hammers as he sees the flash of lightning overhead getting further away.

Scrambling, Jack tugs at ropes, but the old, discarded net is a knotted mess, and in the growing darkness, he can't even see where to start. He digs out his pocketknife and saws at a thick rope around his ankle frantically while his lungs burn for oxygen. The water pressure is painful now, his ribs being crushed inward and sharp pains stabbing into his ears.

Finally, he can't resist his body's impulses anymore and he gasps, sucking in a mouthful of bitter seawater that makes him gag and choke. His vision is starting to go black at the edges, blending in with the dark ocean. The frigid water locks up his muscles, and he panics when the knife slips from his tingling fingers. Desperate and terrified, Jack keeps pulling and pulling at the ropes, to no avail.

He can't see the surface anymore when he looks up, and his chest is full of fire. He seizes, his lungs trying to simultaneously expel water and drag in air but not accomplishing either. As the shadows creep further into his head, Jack has the vague, distracted thought that he never imagined this is how he'd go. It's actually almost peaceful in a way, disregarding the fear, his body numb and weightless in the endless expanse of open water.

Something in the distance momentarily catches his attention, something that shimmers in beautiful shades of blue and silver, but before he can look closer, the darkness blankets the last of his consciousness and he slips away. 

* * *

Jack's entire body convulses, and he curls onto his side as he vomits out mouthfuls of burning water. Coughing and gasping, he pulls in greedy breaths that sear the whole way down but are still the most glorious, incredible feeling he's ever known. His head is spinning, his vision spotted with black, but he can vaguely make out dark sand beneath his grasping fingers. Freezing and shivering, he can hear the sound of the storm behind him and waves are lapping up over his legs, but wherever he's at, he's at least shielded from the rain.

When he's finally got his breathing back under control, Jack collapses onto his back again, exhausted. He has no idea what's happening, can't think straight through the pounding in his head. All he knows is that he's not drowning. He's not dead. And he really, _really_ wants to take a nap.

The sound of movement drags his gaze sideways and his fuzzy vision catches on a figure, a human shape of pale skin and dark hair and the bluest, _bluest_ eyes Jack's ever seen. "Who-?" Jack croaks but the single syllable sends him into another fit of hacking coughs. A damp, frigid hand smooths over Jack's cheek softly before settling on his chest just above his heart. Jack wants to reach up, wants to touch this mysterious person to be sure they're not a figment of his imagination, but his muscles won't respond, limbs still numb with cold.

Then the hand retreats and the figure moves away. "Wait," Jack rasps but the person doesn't respond. Jack manages to roll onto his side just in time to see the figure slip into the water, pale skin disappearing into the dark sea. And just before they vanish completely, there's a flicker of blue and silver, a wide crescent-shape that sends a little wave up over Jack's ankles.

Awed and confused, Jack slumps back onto the sand and gives in to his exhaustion. 

* * *

The sun is shining the next time Jack wakes up, illuminating the space around him. Disoriented, he looks around himself in confusion. The last thing he remembers is a sodden fishing net dragging him down into the depths of the sea. Now he's lying on a stretch of beach inside a small cave, the rocks around him eroded to smoothness by water and time. Beyond the mouth of the cave, he can see the ocean, sunlight sparkling off its surface.

Jack sits up with a groan, his entire body aching. His clothes are still damp, salt clinging to the fabric and making them crunch dully. Each breath burns through his raw throat, and he feels like he's been repeatedly punched in the chest. He can't stop shivering, cold all the way down to his bones.

But he's _alive_, which is a lot more than he was expecting, honestly.

It takes a long time for Jack to compel his muscles into cooperating, and he climbs gingerly to his feet. His left leg throbs and he looks down curiously - his foot is bare and what's left of his pant leg looks like it was shredded by a shark, tattered strips of fabric hanging from his knee. Below that, his skin is red from rope burn and there's a pair of dark welts around his ankle. His right pant leg is also torn, but only at the bottom, and he's only wearing a sodden, dirty sock on that side.

Grimacing, Jack limps to the edge of the little stretch of beach and pauses. The sand drops off at a steep decline, the water getting deep very fast. It's low-tide now so the water doesn't reach all the way up the hill, and it also reveals a narrow track of sand and stone that's only partially submerged, curving around the wall toward the mouth of the cave. Getting back into the water is sort of the last thing Jack wants to do right now so he heads for the path, clinging to the stone wall as he inches his way toward the light.

Warm sunshine on his skin grounds him more than anything else so far, and Jack takes a second to absorb it on the stony beach outside the cave. The storm is long gone, nothing more than lingering feathers of cloud on the rose-colored horizon, and it's a dazzling summer morning. When Jack looks up and down the coastline, he is surprised to recognize the area; he's only a mile or so north of the marina, on a strip of beach below the cliffside. The promise of civilization and a warm bed spurring him on, Jack staggers south along the damp sand.

His head is reeling and he can barely keep his eyes open by the time the docks come into view. They are bustling with life, crewmen shouting to each other as the late starters get their ships ready to set sail for the day. Jack recognizes a trio of Coast Guard boats tied at the far end of the dock, their overhead lights flashing. He's a quarter-mile out when a yell suddenly cuts over the others. "Hey, that him?" someone calls out.

This is immediately followed by a familiar voice bellowing, "Cowboy!"

Spot. Jack grins, grateful. Spot is his friend; Spot's always good for a ride home. Fatigue washing over him again, Jack catches a glimpse of figures sprinting up the beach toward him as he crumples to the hard ground. 

* * *

This time, Jack wakes up to warmth and white. He's encircled by faint hums and beeps and the distant murmur of so many voices. It's easier to breathe, cool air filling his nose in perfect rhythm, and he blinks groggily a few times as he tries to take stock of his surroundings. There's a set of voices that are closer than the others, and Jack tips his head that direction curiously. Near the doorway to the room, he can make out a man in a white coat having a hushed conversation with-

"Spot?"

Both pairs of eyes snap over at his hoarse croak, and Jack sees the lines in Spot's face relax slightly, a nearly imperceptible sign of relief. Meanwhile, the other man - a doctor, Jack recognizes a bit belatedly - flashes a warm smile. "Welcome back, Jack," the doctor greets. The doctor comes toward the bed, leaning heavily to one side with his weight pitched onto a forearm crutch, and Jack realizes he's met this guy before. Charlie Morris is a friend of Spot's; they've all gone out drinking together once or twice when their schedules lined up. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," Jack admits. His throat feels like it's coated in sand, and he coughs a couple of times.

"I'll bet," Charlie says with a sympathetic smile. He picks up a glass of water with a little plastic straw from the bedside table and holds it out, allowing Jack to sip the cool water. When his throat is less raw, Jack slumps back into the pillow with an appreciative sigh. "You went through the wringer, buddy. Not a lotta guys survive what you did."

"Next time pick a better time to go for a dip, wouldja?" Spot intones dryly.

Jack snorts. "Don't look at me, blame whoever tied that fuckin' weak-ass knot."

"Oh trust me, I a'ready kicked Oscar's ass," Spot says, folding his arms over his chest in that way he thinks makes him look menacing. Considering he's barely over five-foot, it's not particularly impressive, even with his musculature. Well, maybe a little when they first met, but after you've seen a guy cry through more than one Disney movie, it's hard to be intimidated anymore.

Glancing between them, the doctor's lips twitch in amusement. "Any difficulty breathing?" he asks. He grabs the stethoscope from around his neck and sticks it into his ears with one hand, leaning against the side of the bed to press the end of the stethoscope against Jack's chest. Jack takes a deep breath, relieved to find it doesn't hurt, and shakes his head. Charlie hums and nods. "That's good, sounds like we got the fluid outta your lungs."

Charlie straightens up, tugging the stethoscope from his ears, and he twists one of the screens above the bed to check the stats. "And looks like your core temp is back up where it's supposed to be too," he adds, nodding. "Congrats, Jack, you're officially outta the woods. We'll monitor you another couple hours just to be sure, but after that, you should be good to go home with nothing worse than a sprained ankle, a bit of rope burn, and what we professionally refer to as 'a metric-fuckton of bruises.'"

Jack laughs, flashing the doctor a grateful smile. "Thanks, doc."

"Dr. Crutchie, at your service," Charlie says with a playful salute and a wink. "I'll be back in a bit. Hit the call button if you need anything." He pats Jack once on the shoulder and exchanges nods with Spot before limping out of the door. Jack exhales and slouches into the pillow, his eyelids fluttering lazily.

"_Jesucristo_, Cowboy," Spot breathes once the doctor's out of earshot, switching naturally to butchered Spanglish the way they do whenever they're alone. His expression is stern, almost angry, but there's a furrow of concern on his brow. The two of them bonded almost instantly when Jack joined the crew, drawn together by their shared experiences as both Hispanics and kids from the foster system. Spot grips the rail on the edge of the bed and the muscles in his biceps jump as he flexes his hands in agitation. "When ya went under and didn't come back up, we all thought you were a goner. We were miles out. How the fuck did you get to shore?"

Jack frowns, searching back through his memories. "Not actually sure," he confesses. "Tide must have dragged me in, I guess." Even as he says it, something about it strikes his mind as wrong. He can feel the throbbing in his ankles and distinctly remembers his frantic attempts to free his leg from the net that was pulling him down. He remembers the burning of his lungs as he desperately tried for air and breathed in only water. He remembers the crushing darkness that enveloped him, sweeping him away toward certain death.

Spot gives a feeble chuckle and shakes his head. "Then you're the luckiest bastard on the planet," he says in breathless awe. "Had the Coast Guard out combing the water for ya, and then here ya come, just walking up the beach looking like a damn zombie."

"Basically was one," Jack says with a huff. "Last thing I remember was tryna get outta the net from that damn crate, then next thing I know, I wake up on the beach next morning feelin' like death."

"No shit," Spot says, smirking. "Had lungs full of water and mild hypothermia by the time we gotcha to the hospital."

Jack hums, his eyelids drooping again. Despite the fact that he's done almost nothing but sleep for God-knows-how-many hours, he still feels exhausted. He lets out a breath and then frowns when a vague snatch of memory comes to him: the bluest eyes and a tender hand on his cheek. It couldn't have been Spot; his eyes are dark brown. Maybe one of the paramedics or something?

Beside the bed, Spot chuckles. "Take a nap, Cowboy, I'll wake you up when Crutchie comes back."

"M'kay," Jack agrees blearily. Eyes floating shut, Jack drifts off with a murky image of a pale shape and wide blue fan sinking into the water. 

* * *

Per company policy, the ship's not allowed back out until they've conducted a thorough safety review, so the crew has a couple of days to themselves. (Jack even more so because he's been assigned two weeks of medical leave to recover.) Jack spends the first two days hanging out at Spot's house, still too drained from the near-drowning to bother moving much but reluctant to be alone. So he crashes on the sofa, watching movies and playing video games with Spot and his husband, Tony.

On the third day, Jack wakes up gasping desperately from yet another nightmare about drowning. It takes him several minutes to catch his breath and slow his racing heart, reminding himself that he's at home in bed. He slumps against the headboard with a groan when he sees that the sky outside the window is only just starting to gray with sunrise. He's used to being up this early for work, but he was hoping to sleep in a little since he's got the time off. Apparently, his brain has other ideas.

Jack kicks off his blankets, restless and knowing there's no way he'll get back to sleep now. Time to fall back on his usual tactic for combatting bad dreams.

Dressing quickly, Jack throws his supplies into his backpack and grabs his favorite old hoodie. He locks up his little shoebox apartment behind him and starts walking into town. After making a quick stop at his preferred little corner café to pick up a coffee and a muffin, Jack strolls down toward a viewpoint near the marina. He finds an open bench and sits down, then digs his trusty sketchbook out of his bag. Eyeing the horizon, Jack grabs a charcoal pencil and gets to work.

Sketching has always been an escape for Jack. It's a place where he's completely in control, where he can capture the world the way he sees it or morph it to his will. Getting invested in a sketch helps him to shuck off reality for a little while and forget everything else. Nothing exists but him and the images blossoming beneath his hand.

The backdrop of the harbor is a comforting white noise; men shouting, the heavy sound of moor lines and waves smacking against metal hulls, seagulls shrieking as they spiral overhead. Jack breathes in the sharp tang of the sea, cold mist off the water stinging his face and his lungs full of the bitter scent of salt and fish. He goes through several pages, letting his muse and imagination wander where they want.

By the time Jack starts running out of steam, the sun has fully risen and baked away the last of his lingering anxiety. He sits up, spine popping in protest to being hunched over for so long, and shakes out the cramp in his hand. Curious, he flicks through the pages to examine the sketches, seeing if any of them turned out well.

A wide view of the marina, towering masts piercing the sky while seagulls circle like vultures.

The sunrise crawling up over the horizon, casting sweeping shadows that seem to stretch on forever.

A lone chunk of jagged rock that spears up above the rolling waves, solitary and steadfast like a sentry.

An indistinct, long crescent just barely above the surface of the water, surrounded by a haze of mist.

Jack pauses on this last one, his brow furrowed in frustration. It makes no sense but he hasn't been able to shake the distorted figure from his dreams, the pale face with the too-blue eyes that disappeared into the waves without a word. Jack knows it was probably just a hallucination, his oxygen-deprived brain creating wild fantasies at some point while he was unconscious, but that doesn't stop the image from cropping up in his thoughts all the time.

And of course, there's that voice in the back of his head that keeps asking, _how_ did _I get back to shore?_

He's been telling anyone who asks that he was dragged in by the tide after he finally managed to get his foot loose from the net, and no one questions it because how the hell else would he have gotten to shore on his own? The problem is, Jack doesn't believe it himself, at least not completely. It's the only possibility that makes sense, but at the same time, it doesn't line up with his memories. The last he remembers, he'd been impossibly deep in the ocean and tangled up in that net. As far as he knows, he should be fish food.

Jack chews his thumbnail distractedly, staring down the beach for several minutes before the inexplicable pull in his chest gets the better of him. Hitching his backpack up onto his shoulder, Jack starts picking his way down the rocky slope toward the shoreline, ignoring the protests of his sprained ankle. High tide was not long ago, and the waves are still claiming most of the strip of coast below the cliffs, forcing him to stay close to the sheer bluffs. 

Jack's memory is a little foggy from that time, but he thinks he remembers about how far he was from the marina when he woke up. So when he hits the mile mark, he starts peering into the cave mouths that he passes in search of the right one. The majority of them are nothing more than hollows and crawlspaces, little sections where the weaker rock was beaten away by the relentless tide.

Then Jack ducks his head to look into a cave that's about elbow-height, and his stomach flips. The cave itself is faintly dome-shaped, barely the size of his bedroom, and the plateau of sand at the far end is only a few feet across before it dips in a sharp incline into the water. Waves lap at the sand, only an inch or so below the point where it levels out. The small path that curves along the side is more than a foot beneath the water at the moment.

Jack also sees something that sends his heart into his throat; the pale shape of an arm that spreads into a bared shoulder and head covered in dark hair.

"Jesus," Jack hisses, ducking through the cave mouth to shuffle along the narrow path against the wall. Water soaks his jeans up over the knee, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh, but Jack is more focused on the ghostly-pale figure splayed on the beach. Only the upper body is out of the water and it doesn't appear to be moving, doesn't give the slightest indication that they hear him approaching. Jack can see what looks like a jagged gash along its back just above water level, stretching from nearly the spine around the side of their ribs.

He doesn't want to think it, but the practical part of his brain informs him that it's far more likely he's about to find not a person but a corpse.

As soon as the sloped walls of the cave get tall enough that he's not stooped, Jack releases his grip on the rocks with one hand and reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. He is halfway through dialing for the cops when the tide retreats, baring more of the figure clinging to the spit of land, and Jack stops up short.

It's not a corpse. It's also very much _not_ a person.

Breathless, Jack dismisses the call and stows his phone away. He scoots closer, absorbing the sight before him. At first glance, it does look like a man; a torso, two arms, a head. It's lying on its front, one arm stretched up with fingers dug into the sand like it's clinging on. Porcelain skin spans across lean muscles in the shoulders and back. The black hair atop its head is damp and curled at the tips, and what he can see of the slack face is comprised of sharp angles, rosebud lips, and a Roman nose between prominent cheekbones. 

It's not the upper body that's demanding Jack's attention, however, because below the waist, white skin shifts into a gleaming sapphire blue. Instead of hips and legs, several feet of sleek and muscular tail ends in a wide fan that's twitching beneath the water on the current. The tailfin is semi-translucent, rows of veins and tendon visible through the silver-blue, and longer at the outer tips to form an almost crescent shape.

For several long seconds, Jack can only stare, because he is either seriously tripping balls or there's a fucking _mermaid_ in front of him.

The voice in the back of his head takes this opportunity to scream triumphantly because that wide fan of tail beneath the surface matches the image that's been dancing through his dreams for the last few days. He's never believed in mermaids, never thought they existed outside of Disney movies, but at the same time, it could explain how Jack survived nearly drowning miles out to sea. Did the mermaid - or mer_man_, he supposes, judging by that face - save him?

Another wave washes up over the merman's torso, and when it retreats, it carries with it a trail of maroon blood eking from the gouge in his back. The sight spurs Jack back into motion, and he scurries the last few steps onto the beach. The merman still hasn't moved, unconscious and not acknowledging Jack's presence, but he can see the ribs rise and fall in shallow breaths. Squatting down at the merman's side, Jack reaches out to run a hand over the gash, checking for any heat that might signal inflammation or infection.

In a flurry of movement, a sharp elbow to the face sends Jack backward onto his ass. "Ow, _que mierda_?" he curses, massaging his aching jaw. "That fuckin' hurt."

"Stay back!"

Jack glances up in surprise. Across from him, the merman shoves himself off the slope of sand into the water with one arm while the other is curved protectively over his wound. The eyes staring back at Jack are a breathtaking blue with no whites, the gem-bright color stretching all the way from corner to corner. _So blue, the_ bluest _blue._

"Wait!" Jack says desperately when the merman starts to retreat further, and he holds his hands out in a universal sign of surrender. "Don't go, please. M'sorry, didn't mean to scare ya. Was just tryna make sure you aren't gonna die."

The merman pauses just as he's slipping below the surface, and then his head cocks to the side in an endearingly child-like gesture. Rising back to tread water, his gaze pans over Jack and his eyes widen further. "You."

Jack can't stop the excited grin that spreads across his face. "So it _was_ you," he concludes eagerly. "You saved me, didntcha? I can't believe - just, _wow_. You saved my life. Thanks, seriously. I would'a died if weren't for you."

Still watching him uncertainly, the merman hesitates like he can't decide between staying and fleeing. "Why are you here?"

"Was lookin' for answers," Jack admits. "Or you, I guess. I couldn't figure how I made it back to shore, thought maybe comin' back here would help me 'member." Jack cranes his neck, trying to see where the merman is still guarding his injured side. "You okay? That looks like a nasty gash there."

"I'm fine," the merman says stiffly.

"You sure? 'Cause youse still bleeding. Can I at least look at it, make sure there ain't something stuck in that'll getcha an infection?" Jack asks. The merman stares at him suspiciously. "C'mon, it's the least I can do. You saved my life, I'll feel real bad if I letcha die."

The merman regards him thoughtfully for a minute, still floating halfway between the beach and the cave entrance, and then he lets out a weary breath. A sharp flick of his tail pushes him back to the beach and he digs his hands - which are webbed to the first knuckle with pale, semi-translucent skin - into the sand. With a grunt, the merman hauls himself up until he's supported on the shelf of shore, and props his weight up on his elbows.

"Thanks," Jack says gratefully. He inches closer slowly, hands still held up, and the merman watches his every movement with narrowed eyes. Once he's kneeling at the merman's side, Jack reaches out carefully and brushes his fingers over the wound. The merman hisses a breath in through his teeth, which Jack only just now sees are slightly sharper than a human's, the incisors sloping into points. "Sorry," Jack murmurs, casting him an apologetic look.

Blood dyes his fingertips as Jack probes the gash experimentally, and the merman's jaw is clenched against the pain. "You got a name?" Jack asks to distract him. The merman gives him a wary look. "My name's Jack Kelly."

The silence goes on for so long that Jack thinks the merman isn't going to answer, and then he hears a low, "David."

Jack beams. "Nice to meetcha, Davey," he says brightly. Despite how bad it looks, the edges ragged in a way that tells him it wasn't a smooth cut, the wound isn't too deep and he doesn't find anything more than grains of sand sticking in the flesh. "Well, youse lucky; looks like ya didn't tear nothin' important." He tugs his hoodie over his head - and he doesn't miss the way the merman flinches at the unexpected movement - and Jack balls up the fabric to press it to the deepest part of the wound where it wraps around the merman's side. "Should be okay once ya stop bleedin'."

"Told you I was fine," the merman named David mutters, a bit imperiously.

Jack snorts, amused. "A'ight, smart ass," he replies. "Forgive me for wantin' to be sure you weren't gonna die."

Still holding the hoodie against the merman's side, Jack lets his gaze slide appreciatively over the creature now that he can see more. The lean tail is visibly muscular and the wide fin at the end is floating lazily on the surface of the water like gossamer. It's easy to see that the tail is strong, a stretch of tightly-woven muscles wrapped in scales that sparkle like jewels. 

From this close, Jack can see that there's a small ridge of spined fins that extend down the outer side of either forearm, shifting from pale ivory at the base into shimmering navy on top; the same rigid, fin-like structures edge his ears and shape them into a point. What Jack thought were freckles along his shoulders and back actually appear to be tiny scales, the same deep blue of the tail. The merman's hair curls around his head like a halo, and there are two tiny braids among the wavy curls on the right side, one secured with a circular seashell no bigger than a bead and the other by what seems to be a knot of fishing line. 

Altogether, the whole thing comes together into something wild and exotic, almost human but just a little _not_.

"You're staring," the merman notes flatly.

"Course I am," Jack says with a laugh. "Look at ya; youse fuckin' beautiful." A second later, he realizes what he said, and his ears burn in embarrassment, while David's eyes widen, surprised. "I mean, just - shit, I never thought somethin' like you even existed, but here you are and it's _amazing_. How do you even exist? I mean, how do folks not _know_ you exist?"

The merman's lips pinch into a thin line. "We are not supposed to go near Two-tail," he says furtively.

"Two-tail?" Jack asks curiously.

"You," David answers. He prods Jack's bent knee with one long, tapered finger that ends in a sharp nail the same color as his scales. "Your kind."

"Oh," says Jack, eyes widening in understanding. "You mean like two _legs_. Gotcha." He licks his lips, checking the merman's wound again. "But if you're not supposed to come near us, why are you here? And why did you save me?"

David opens his mouth, and then a second later, he snaps it shut again with a click, brow furrowed. "I don't know," he admits softly, not meeting Jack's eye anymore. "I shouldn't have, but - I saw you, and you were so scared I could _feel_ it. And I thought it wouldn't matter because you were not awake, so it was safe if I could just bring you back to where your kind could find you." He clears his throat, distractedly rolling a cracked piece of seashell between his fingers.

"Well, thanks again," Jack says. "It's kinda funny, though, you savin' me. We got all these stories 'bout mermaids and there's lots of 'em saying you guys like to drown us."

"Drown you?" asks David, confused. "Why would we do that?"

Jack shrugs. "I dunno, they're old myths and stuff. The sailors talk about them sometimes. Say that there's mermaids that will lure men into the water and then drag them down to the bottom. Think some stories say it's to eat 'em, and some just for fun, I guess."

The merman's face scrunches in disgust. "We do not eat Two-tail. And calling them to us would be foolish. We do not want your kind to find us."

"That's good to know," Jack says with a laugh. "I'd hate to survive it once and then have ya turn 'round and drown me now." David scoffs derisively. Jack checks the wound again, adjusting his grip on the hoodie. "Okay, so the drownin' stories are out. What about the singing thing? How you guys can sing and drive men crazy? Is that a thing?"

David almost looks amused when he glances sideways at Jack this time. "Where do your kind come up with these ideas?"

"Takin' that as a no," Jack guesses and the merman gives him a wry look. "Okay. Um - oh, what about the thing about mermaid's tears? I heard a story like that as a kid, that mermaid tears can save a guy from drowning."

"What is tears?" David asks.

"Ya know, when your eyes water," the human explains. When David still looks confused, he continues, "Like when you're sad or hurt, and water drips from your eyes. Don't your people do that?"

The merman frowns, head cocked. "What purpose could that serve? We are in water always, there's no reason for us to make more from our eyes."

Jack chuckles, conceding the point. "So you sayin' that's not how you saved me?" he teases.

"I saved you by cutting the Two-tail trap and carrying you to the Above," David says, rolling his eyes. Jack glances at the merman's frighteningly sharp nails and nods; that explains why his jeans were shredded like confetti. "There was no magic. That is a thing of stories from the old ones."

"You got stories like that?" Jack asks curiously, his eyebrows jumping toward his hairline. "Any of them about my kind?"

David thinks for a moment, scratching idly at the broken seashell with one fingernail. "There is a story that they tell to us all when we are young, a story of the old magic, about a Fin-kin who fell in love with a Two-tail. He loved her so much he tore his tail in two so he could go to her in her lands, even though it hurt him every second. Then one day she fell to the water and it carried her very far from Two-tail lands until she would surely die. The Fin-kin could not bear it, so he wrapped her in his magic and shared his breaths so he could keep her with him in the seas for all time."

"Hey, see, you got stories about saving humans from drowning too," Jack says, beaming. "Turns out we ain't so diff'rent after all." 

"It is simply an old legend," David counters, smirking slightly. "None of my kind can do that kind of magic." He winces when Jack shifts his pressure with the hoodie and casts a quick glance down to it. "Has it not stopped bleeding yet? I would like to return to my pod without attracting eaters."

Jack snorts. "Give it a sec, wouldja? It's a big cut, it's gonna take a bit. How'd ya get a cut like this anyway? Looks like you got bit by a shark."

The merman's expression tightens darkly. "A Two-tail trap." Jack looks up in alarm. "There was a trap of broken rope and shining stone claw," David curves his hand into a shape that tells Jack he means one of the large steel hooks used to haul nets from the water, "hidden in the reeds not far from here. I didn't see until it was too late, and I made it worse while trying to escape."

"Fuckin' lazy assholes," Jack growls furiously. That explains why the wound is jagged and uneven if it tore as he was struggling. He can picture it, the merman thrashing to get away from the hook only for it to slide and rip through his side as well. "Can't stand fishers that just chuck out their old stuff like that. There's a reason they teach ya how to get rid it the right way, so stuff don't get killed."

"Fishers," David echoes, rolling the sounds over his tongue like he's tasting them. "This is what you call your hunting kind? The ones that ride in the floating shells, and trap the fin-kind?" It's a strange way to describe it, but it's not exactly inaccurate, so Jack nods. "You are a fishers kind?"

"Not technically," Jack says, shaking his head. "I work on a fishing ship, but I'm just the mechanic." At the merman's confused look, he elaborates, "I make sure things work. Fix things when they break, stuff like that."

David's lips part around a noise of comprehension. "I am a hunter," he says, and Jack grins when he realizes this is the first time the merman's volunteered information without being asked. "But I am also a finder. I look for things that my people can use, things that the Two-tail lose to the water. I make things from them."

"That's awesome," Jack says. "Bet youse real smart then, huh? Knowin' how to use stuff like that." He doesn't miss the brief, pleased smile that darts across the merman's lips before he turns his face away. Jack draws the hoodie back and nods in satisfaction when he sees the wound has finally clotted. "Looks like youse mostly stopped bleedin' too."

David touches the edges of the wound tenderly. "Thank you."

Jack grins. "Like I said, least I could do," he replies. He glances at his blood-stained hoodie and decides there won't be any salvaging it. So much for his favorite one; although, as he looks at the merman, Jack can't really be that bothered that he'll have to throw it away. "You saved my life, 'member?"

There is a moment of quiet, and then David says, "I am glad that you lived."

Something warm blossoms in Jack's chest and he smiles. "Thanks. And I'm glad you ain't gonna get eaten by sharks now."

David snorts, amused. Then his expression falters slightly. "I should go," he says, glancing toward the mouth of the cave. "The water will soon be too low for me to leave, and I have been away from my pod-kin for too long already."

"I don't want you to go," Jack admits. "I - I still have so many questions, so much I want to know."

"I'm not supposed to talk to Two-tails," the merman reminds him, but his eyes say he might be just as curious about the human as Jack is about the merman. David makes a sharp, chittering noise in his throat, not unlike a dolphin, and pushes his drying fringe off his forehead. "It is not safe."

"What if ya just come back here?" Jack tries. "This place is hid, no one gonna see. Please? Even if it's just for a bit. To let me know you didn't become some bigger fish's lunch."

The merman scoffs derisively. "I am a hunter," he says and fingers the twist of fishing line woven into his hair. Jack wonders if that's what it means, if the different objects braided into his hair have different meanings. David meets Jack's gaze again and then huffs. "The next time the Bright-Heat rises, come to this place, and when the water is highest I will meet you."

"I'll be here," Jack agrees excitedly.

David mirrors his eager smile for a moment before it flickers. "Jack-Kelly?" the merman asks, and he drags the Ks together to make the name into one word. "Can I trust you?"

It isn't much of a leap to guess what the merman is worried about. "I'll come alone," Jack promises. "I swear, won't tell no one about you."

Tension draining from his features, David's small smile comes back. "Thank you," he says. He glances toward the cave mouth again and sighs. "I need to go, but I will see you."

"See ya tomorrow," Jack says, beaming.

The merman pushes himself down the incline into the water. He flashes Jack one more quick smile of too-sharp teeth and then slips beneath the surface. Jack leans out to watch the lithe shape twist gracefully and swim toward the entrance to the cave. The water is shallow enough there that David's back almost breaks the surface again before he disappears out into the open ocean without so much as a ripple. 

* * *

Jack is awake at the crack of dawn the next day, so excited he could barely sleep. Packing up his backpack, prepared for a long day, he makes a quick stop at the café and reaches the marina just as the sun hits the horizon. It rained overnight, so the sky is heavy with maroon and pink clouds that backlight the army of fishing ships out on the water. Jack grins as he picks his way down the rocky beach, the tide barely coming within reach as he retraces the path from memory.

The cave is unsurprisingly empty when Jack gets there, considering high tide is still a couple of hours off. Of course, it's not like Jack really has anything more exciting to do with his day, especially since the ship was cleared to return to work so Spot's going to be gone the next few days. So he slips around the edge of the cave and settles himself down on the stretch of shaded beach, back propped against the wall. Wedging his coffee cup into the sand so it doesn't fall over, Jack digs out his sketchbook and lets himself disappear under the whims of his muse.

It's no shock that his mind keeps going back to the merman, his hand attempting to shape and capture the elegant, graceful figure on the page. He tries for ages, inevitably getting frustrated and flipping to a new page when the image keeps eluding him. After his sixth attempt, when he's drawn and erased and drawn again so many times he's worn a hole through the paper, Jack tears it out with a huff. He balls up the page in frustration and hurls it across the cave.

Just as Jack puts pencil back to paper, intending to start over again, something cold and wet splats against the top of his head before dropping into his lap. Jack stares, bemused, at the sodden ball of charcoal-smudged paper creating a damp spot on his jeans. He looks up, but the cave is empty.

"David?" Jack calls curiously, pushing up onto his knees to peer down into the water. Far below the surface, near where Jack thinks the bottom of the cave is, he can just make out a streak of pale white among the deep blues. Jack laughs, shaking his head, and throws the ball of paper back into the water. "Youse a punk, aintcha?"

Twisting around, the merman swims up until he breaks the surface and promptly throws the wet paper at Jack again. "It's rude to throw your things in the water," David says, but there's a hint of a playful grin hovering at the corners of his mouth.

"S'just paper," Jack points out. "It dissolves."

David snorts. "It makes the water taste bad when I breathe," he counters. Jack chuckles but shrugs, conceding the argument. It's not like paper tastes good, so he can't imagine breathing it is any better. "What are you doing?" the merman asks, cocking his head.

"Was sketchin'," Jack answers. David's brow furrows in confusion. "Ya know, makin' pictures. Art. Here, see, like this," he continues when the merman still looks lost. Scooting closer to the water's edge, Jack flicks through the pages until he finds the sketch of the marina from the day before and then turns the book around so David can see.

The merman's eyes go wide, the bright blue almost fathomless, and he swims over to hoist himself up on his elbows for a better look. "You made this?" David asks, awed. He hovers a hand like he wants to touch but doesn't. "It is - frozen time made of shadows. Incredible."

Jack chuckles. "It's just a sketch," he says, shrugging. "Don't your people got art? Makin' pictures from colors. Or, I dunno, like cave-paintings, scratching pictures into rocks?"

"Nothing like this," David says. "We used to carve stories into the stones, pictures of myth and history, but it is not as common now. Easier to pass them on by saying and singing. No point making the effort when our pod will only have to move on soon and we will have to make it again."

"Ya move 'round lots?" Jack asks. He sets his sketchpad aside on his backpack where it'll be safe from water and leans his elbows onto his knees.

David nods and rests his chin on his folded arms. "We have to. In the old days, our kind had sprawling homes that they built in the reefs, where hundreds of our kind lived together. Now, the Two-tail come far beneath the water and it is not safe for us. We have had to move deeper, and even that does not last long. They keep coming and we must keep away."

"Shit, hadn't thought'a that," Jack says, frowning. "Yeah, we got subs and stuff."

"Subs," the merman echoes. "Those are the enormous hollow stones? I have seen those. They make the echo-screams." He makes a long, piercing noise, similar to a dolphin's squeal, in demonstration.

"Sonar, yeah," Jack agrees. "S'how they see if there's anythin' in front of them, from how the sounds bounce off stuff."

David hums and nods. "My kind do this too when we are in the Deeps," he says. "Many pods live there now, far from the Above and the Bright-Heat. It is safer from the Two-tail but more dangerous from the other fin-kind."

"That sucks," Jack says sympathetically. "Moving 'round a lot blows, 'specially when ya don't know where youse gonna end up."

The merman eyes him thoughtfully. "Does your pod move often?"

Jack chuffs a soft laugh and shakes his head. "Just me. I don't got a pod."

"No pod at all?" David asks, brow furrowing.

"At least not family," says Jack. "Got a couple friends here, but that's sorta a new thing. When I was a kid I bounced around through lots of homes."

"What of your pod-kin?" David asks curiously.

"My family? Don't have any left," Jack admits. "No idea who my dad is, and my mom died when I was only a couple years old. All of her family was back in Puerto Rico - uh, that's a different country. Lots of lots of 'pods' together with one person in charge of it all, ya know?"

"This is how the old reefdoms were," David says in understanding. "Many pods living together under one Chief."

"Right, yeah," Jack says, nodding. "Anyway, my mom came here by herself, so I never met any of her family. I don't know if any of them even know I exist, honestly. So I'm all that's left." 

Jack jumps in surprise at the cold touch to his wrist, and he glances down to find the merman has set a hand on his arm with a sad look. "I am sorry for your kin," David says. "That is - I cannot imagine that kind of loss."

"Hard to miss what you never really had," Jack replies flippantly, but he touches the merman's hand to acknowledge the gesture.

"Your other place, the pod-kin of your mother, is that why you are browner than the other Two-tail here?" David asks and his eyes are lit with a bright inquisitiveness. It tugs a smile out of Jack; looks like his theory that the merman's curious about him too was right.

"Yeah, the people down there got darker skin," the human agrees. "I mean, not everyone up here's white, obv'sly, but it sorta tends to go like that. Sun makes you dark. Folks' skin gets darker when ya move towards the equator. Down where it's way hotter," he elaborates at David's questioning look. "What about your kind? Youse pale as fuck. All your people pale as you or you got diff'rent colors too?"

The merman purses his lips thoughtfully. "I don't know what a 'fuck' is," and Jack can't fight back the ecstatic giggle at David saying the swear word so innocently, "but most of my pod are my color here." He touches his chest deliberately. "But many have hair that is different, and tails as well."

"Youse tail's the prettiest damn color, though," Jack says. Deciding to test his luck, he reaches over tentatively to brush a thumb along the ridge of fin that spans the length of David's forearm. The merman watches him intently but makes no motion to stop him, so Jack lets himself explore the feeling. The bony spines that frame it are strong, while the iridescent blue skin between them is sleek. As Jack runs his thumb down the row of spines, the fin folds in against David's arm like a bird's wing and then spreads back out once Jack removes his hand. "That's so cool."

"No colder than the rest of me," the merman says, smirking in amusement. "Your touch is warm like the Bright-Heat."

Jack laughs. "No, cool means good. Awesome. Really fuckin' amazing."

A pleased smile spreads across David's face even as he drops his gaze hesitantly. "Oh. Cool is good?"

"Very," Jack agrees. "And everythin' 'bout you is seriously _so cool_."

"You are not like other Two-tail," David says, forehead beetled and smile bemused. "Your kind usually hunt and hurt us. They are angry and dangerous. You are-" his smile shifts into something almost mischievous, "cool."

"Thanks, _amigo,_" Jack says, beaming in satisfaction.

"And _amigo_ is good too?" Davey clarifies. Chuckling, Jack nods. "Two-tail words do not make sense, no wonders your kind are always angry. This is why think-speak is better. Think-speak cannot be confusing."

"Think-speak?" Jack asks curiously. "What's that?"

David taps a finger to his forehead. "Speak here. Words and pictures and feelings here to share with others. I can speak to my kind like this, but Two-tails are behind walls of stone and cannot feel the think-speak."

"Wait, like telepathy?" Jack says, awed. "Like, talking to each other inside your brains? Fuck, every time I think ya can't get cooler..." Jack shakes his head and a dazed smile crosses his lips. "Sorry, it probably doesn't help I tend to go back and forth from English to Spanish either." 

"What is those?" Davey asks, head cocked endearingly. 

"Different languages," Jack answers. He furrows his brow, trying to find the easiest way to explain it. "So different places - different countries - we talk differently. English is what most of the people here speak, but the place my mom is from speaks Spanish, so the words are different. Since I grew up learning both, I got a bad habit of doin' both at the same time."

David laughs and shakes his head. "See, think-speak is better. No matter where my people are from, we can share thoughts without these strange, different words." 

Smirking, Jack shrugs. "Maybe. But my friend Spot speaks Spanish too, so we talk in Spanish a lot at work so the others can't understand us. It's funny 'cause we can make fun of the guys on the ship and they have no idea." The merman echoes his grin, exasperated but amused. "Do all of your people speak English too? Speak like humans, I mean?" 

"No, not most," David says. "Very few. I only learned from hearing, since I spend much time near Two-tail places when I go finding. Besides, it does my kind no good. You cannot speak Two-tail words in the water. There is not enough Above to breathe," he finishes in response to Jack's questioning look. 

"Oh, yeah, didn't think 'bout that," Jack says, nodding. "Wait, so how do you breathe? 'Cause I mean you can breathe air, obv'sly. But do you breathe the water too then?" 

The merman nods and twists his head, one hand coming up to push his hair back. Behind his ear, three long cuts follow the natural curve of his skull, the skin above them loose. It takes Jack a second longer to put the pieces together, and his eyes widen. _Gills._ "We do not need mouths to breathe in the water," David says, dropping his hand. "Mouths are to eat. We breathe here. And it is easier, fills me different. Better." 

"That's so crazy," Jack says on a breathless laugh. Gills. Of all the strange and incredible things about this beautiful creature, for some reason, that's the thing his brain is struggling to make sense of. That's certainly not a detail they thought to include in the movies he watched as a kid. "So how's ya back? It healin'?"

The merman nods. "I tended to it," he says. "It is closed now and will heal soon."

"Closed?" Jack asks curiously. "Whatcha mean?" David plants his hands against the ground and pushes up, lifting his upper body out of the water. Jack leans around to check the gash across his back and side, and his eyebrows jump; it looks like the wound has been stitched shut, a row of knots in the flesh that seem to be- "Is that fishing line? Seriously?"

"I told you," David says, lowering himself back into the water. "I find things from the Two-tail and learn to use them. Although this idea was my birth-kin's; she found that the cord is small and strong for this. And I believe she finds it funny."

Jack snorts, shaking his head. "Well, that's one way to do it, I guess," he says. "Least it'll help you heal up faster." Folding his legs and sitting back down, he eyes the merman. "What's a - what's that word you said? Birth-kin?"

"That is a member of the pod born from the same Fin-kin. The same - 'mom' is your word, I think?"

"Oh, so like a sibling," Jack says. "Okay, gotcha. Do you have lots of those birth-kins?"

David shakes his head. "Our pod is quite small. I have two birth-kin. Sarah is born first, and Les is born after me. He is still quite small and young."

Jack grins. "I always wanted a li'l brother," he admits. "Thought that would be good, havin' someone to look after, ya know? Someone lookin' up to ya."

"It is - a pressure," the merman says. "To always be strong and brave. But good, yes." A small, fond smile lifts his lips and Jack has the absent-minded thought that it makes him more beautiful. "Les is reckless and wild, and it makes me afraid. But he is very brave. He will be a strong Chief when he is grown."

"Tell me more 'bout your family?" Jack asks. He stretches out on the beach, propping his head on one hand to put him level with the merman, and listens in rapt fascination as David talks warmly about the other members of his pod, both his family and the scattered strays from other pods they've picked up over the years. 

* * *

Although David once again says that he should not come back, the next mid-morning finds him swimming into the cave where Jack's made himself cozy on the beach. "Hello, Jack-Kelly," the merman greets once he's surfaced, moving forward to prop his arms on the ledge of sand and rock.

Jack glances up from his sketchbook and grins. "_Hola_, Davey."

David cocks his head, smiling. "You say my name wrong."

"It's a nickname," the human counters with a laugh. "Ya know, a name you use with just your friends."

"We are friends?" David asks, expression perplexed.

"Course we are," Jack agrees. "Ya saved my life. And I like talkin' to you, it's fun. That's what friends are, folks who like spending time together. I mean, do _you_ think we're friends?"

The merman seems to consider this, and then he nods. "Yes, I think you're my friend. I like talking to you. What was that name?"

"Davey," Jack repeats.

"Davey," he echoes, doing that funny thing where he seems to roll the word over his tongue like tasting something new. "I like it. Do you have a friend name?"

Jack chuckles. "How 'bout you just call me Jack?" he suggests, even though the way the merman strings his first and last name together into one is weirdly cute. "Shorter that way."

The merman smiles, and Jack wonders when the sight of his more pointed front teeth stopped looking intimidating to him. "Jack. Okay, friend-Jack. That is good." His large sapphire eyes jump to the sketchbook in Jack's lap. "Are you making the art again?"

"Tryna, but not doin' a very good job today," Jack answers with a scoff. "Been tryna draw you but it's kinda hard."

"Me?" David asks, eyebrows raising. The human turns the pad around to show the half-finished sketch on the page. Davey's eyes widen and he tips his head the other direction as he surveys it. He lifts a hand, seemingly tracing the lines of his own face as his eyes follow the mirror of them in the sketch. "You made my face. Incredible."

"Yeah, I can getcha face down pretty good," Jack says, setting the book back in his lap and drumming his pencil on the corner. "Just not the rest. Can never seem to make it look right. S'harder working from memory and from what I can see in the water. Just wanna make it look good 'cause youse pretty. Wanna do it justice, ya know?"

The merman watches him for a moment, biting at his lip in another endearingly human gesture. "It would help you to see me better?" he asks. "Out of the water?"

"Oh, you don't gotta do that," Jack says, although he's flattered at the offer. "Bein' up on land like that can't be comfy for ya."

David shrugs. "It's not bad," he argues, shaking his head. "I used to do it when our pod lived far from Two-tail land, to feel the Bright-Heat. The warm is nice until my tail starts to dry." He purses his lips, and then before Jack can brush away the offer again, he braces his hands against the sand and pushes himself up onto the beach. It takes another pull of his hands to get the rest of his body out of the water, all of him except his tail fin spread out along the sand and stone. The merman rolls onto his back, folding his arms beneath his head, and grins up at Jack cheekily.

"Youse a stubborn punk, ya know that?" Jack says, shaking his head. "Ya didn't gotta do that."

"I don't mind," David says simply, and seems to consider the topic finished by the way he changes the subject to, "Where did you learn to make the art?"

"Just sorta learned from doin' it," Jack says. He twists sideways on the beach to face David, propping his sketchbook against his thigh and grabbing his charcoal again. Jack's never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth - or a gift half-fish-person, in this case. He flips to a clean page and then looks over at the merman appraisingly. "Had a hard time with words when I was little - learned Spanish from my mom but had to learn English after she died, and it was hard - so I started drawin' pictures instead, and just sorta never stopped. Helps me focus when my head feels too full."

"You are very good," says Davey.

Jack snorts. "Youse just sayin' that 'cause youse never seen anyone else's stuff."

"I like them," the merman counters like that settles it. "They are very pretty." Jack pauses in his sketch to cast a small smile over to the other. "Tell me about the Two-tail reefdoms? What are your lands like?"

So while Jack's hand is busy forming shapes on the page, he tells David vague descriptions of places he's seen; of the forests that top the cliffs above the ocean here, and the steel and concrete jungle of New York where he grew up, as well as parts of the country he's only seen in photographs. "Kinda always wanted to live in a place like that," he confesses when he's finished describing the western deserts. "It's nice here, but even this place gets crowded sometimes. Be nice to live somewhere all open like that."

Pausing, eyes narrowed in concentration, Jack erases the line of fin he just drew and tries it again. The memories swell up in him and he adds, "Like, scary as it was almost drownin', there was somethin' kinda pretty 'bout being under the water like that, too. The ocean sorta goes on forever, huh? Open. Like there's nothin' to stop you going anywhere." 

"The water never stops moving, even if I do," Davey says pensively, and Jack feels complimented that the merman is giving his ramblings so much consideration. "If you let it, the water will carry you always, to every corner of the wide waters, and never stop. It is peaceful." David's expression falls slightly. "But it is also - alone."

"Alone?" Jack asks, looking up. "You mean lonely? What 'bout your family? Or your pod, I mean. Thought you all traveled together?"

The merman nods, his tailfin flicking in the water. "When we travel far, yes. We find new homes to settle and hide for a time. But our pod is small, so when I leave to hunt and find, I go alone. Sometimes I am away for many tides, so far away that I cannot feel them in my head. Those times - the water feels empty inside me." Summoning a smile that even Jack can tell is forced, David shrugs. "It is not bad all times, though. Sometimes the quiet is nice. And for now my pod is not terribly far, so I can get back to them quickly if I need to."

"I'm sorry," Jack says, frowning. "I know what it feels like bein' alone a lot. Sucks."

"This helps," the merman says, nervous but resolute. "Talking to you. Having a friend-Jack." 

"Yeah, you too, _amigo_," Jack agrees, his chest warming. It seems unreal and ridiculous, but he feels like he's connected with David in a way he hasn't connected with anyone else before, not even Spot. That for all the ways they are so incredibly different, they understand each other somehow. Jack scoffs internally at himself; isn't that just his luck to finally find a best friend who's a damn mythical creature from the bottom of the ocean. 

A thought occurs to him and Jack picks at his pencil uncertainly. "Your pod, you ain't plannin' to move on soon, are ya?"

"I do not know," David says, eyes dropping. "We stay until it becomes too dangerous; until the Two-tail come too close. There is not really a way to know when we will have to move. But we have no plans yet."

Jack smiles, nodding. "Glad you ain't leavin' yet." Turning his focus back down to the sketchbook, he eyes it appraisingly and makes a noise of satisfaction. "A'ight, that's a good start. Whatcha think?" Jack holds out the page where David can see, displaying the roughed-out image of the merman's figure. He's drawn him suspended in the water, face upturned toward where Jack plans to draw in a ray of sunlight rippling through the water, and hair curling in wild swirls around his face.

"Incredible," Davey breathes, rolling to his side and pressing up onto his hands for a better view.

"See somethin' I should fix?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. "Ain't ever seen ya in the water like that before, obv'sly, so I was just sorta guessin' whatcha fins look like spread out all the way."

"It is better than real," the merman says reverently. "Better than me. So sleek and soft, but fierce. Beautiful."

Jack grins, running his eyes over the sketch again. "Was just drawin' what I see. Toldja, youse damn beautiful." Jack bites his lip, tentative. "You can totally say no if this is too weird, but - can I touch your tail?"

The merman tips his head again, bright eyes surveying Jack, and then he nods. Grinning, Jack sets aside his sketchbook and scoots closer so he can run a hand along the side of the merman's tail where a human would have a hip. It's damp and slick under his touch, the scales bigger than a quarter and firm. The color is iridescent, changing as the light plays across it from a deep blue to a silvery periwinkle. He can feel the lay of long, lean muscles beneath the scales, flexing and shifting slightly as the tailfin sways.

"Amazing," Jack breathes, beaming. "It's so pretty. And _strong_. _Jesu_, I bet you swim so fast."

"The fastest in my pod," David says with a hint of pride. The merman props his weight back on one elbow so his other hand is freed. "Can I?" he asks, gesturing to Jack's leg.

"Oh, sure, yeah," Jack agrees, sitting back and unfolding his legs from beneath him. He took his shoes off before entering the cave to keep them dry, and his jeans are rolled to the knee so his damp calves are coated in sand. David traces the lines of Jack's foot with his long, cold fingers, outlining the arch and the individual toes and the bones of his ankle. The merman hesitates, glancing up to Jack's face for permission, before he continues his exploration curiously up Jack's leg, brushing over the dark welts left by the net and along the bone and muscles just beneath the skin.

"There is hair on your tail," David says, sliding a thumb up his shin bone so that the black hair stands on end.

"Leg," Jack corrects. "It's called a leg. And the hair helps keep ya warm, sorta. I mean, not really anymore 'cause we just wear long pants if we're cold, but I guess that's the science reason why."

"But your skin is very warm," the merman notes. "It feels like the Bright-Heat."

Jack laughs. "Honestly, I'm kinda freezin'," he admits. "The water's cold as fuck. Your hand feels like ice."

"It is usually warmer?" Davey asks in awe. "How do you live that way? It must be so uncomfortable."

"I dunno, how do you handle bein' so cold?" the human replies. "Guess it's 'cause I live up on land. It's warm up here so I'm warmer, and you live in the cold water so youse cold, right?" David seems to consider that and then nods in acceptance. Pushing up into something like a sitting position, the merman lifts a hand toward Jack's face and then hesitates again. "Go ahead," Jack allows. "I ain't gonna bite ya."

Davey snorts. "It would not hurt if you tried with your little teeth," he says and Jack can't be positive, but he's pretty sure the merman's teasing him. "How do your kind even eat? You hunt the fin-kind but surely you cannot bite them with those teeth."

"Well we don't just eat 'em whole," Jack says, laughing. A chill runs down his spine as the merman sweeps his fingers along a cheekbone, those sharp nails tracing his face. "We cut 'em, with knives and stuff. Ya know, sharp things? Cut away the scales and the bones and stuff so it's easier to eat."

"What a waste," David says, huffing an amused noise.

"Why, you just bite right in?" Jack asks curiously. The merman shoots him a sarcastic look and Jack raises an eyebrow. "Damn. Guess that explains the pointy teeth." 

David's thumb coasts over the bow of Jack's lips and he can taste salt clinging to his skin from the contact. He also shivers slightly in a way that has nothing to do with the cold, but Jack hastily shoves those thoughts away. Not even going there.

"Your face is good," David says thoughtfully. He slides a knuckle along the shape of Jack's jaw. "Very strong, like the brave warrior kind from the old stories. But your eyes are soft and pretty, even if the color is so small." Now his hand moves to circle an eye, his touch careful so that the strong nails at the tips of his fingers don't scratch. "There is gold in the brown, like the old Two-tail treasures hidden in the deep sand. It looks very nice."

So much for putting those thoughts away. There's such intensity in Davey's gaze, outlining the features of Jack's face like he's the most fascinating thing in the world. This close, David's breath is cool as it brushes over Jack's throat, and Jack can make out a spray of those tiny azure scales at his temples like microscopic gemstones in his skin. His endlessly blue eyes are almost hypnotic, going on forever like the ocean itself, and there's a part of Jack that thinks he could drown in them. That _wants_ to. 

Clearing his throat, Jack blinks away the dazedness and pulls back a few inches so he can breathe. David instantly drops his hand, averting his gaze, and his tailfin fidgets on the surface of the water. There's a long, tense moment, and then, "I should go. The tide is leaving." Without another word, David pushes himself down into the water and disappears. 

* * *

The next day, Davey doesn't show.

Jack sits in the little private cove all day, an anxious, nervous wreck. He paces and fills the pages of his sketchbook with endless drawings, and obsessively watches the waves lapping at the cave entrance for any sign of blue scales and pale skin to no avail. Heart twisting painfully, Jack finally gathers his things when the sea hits low tide again and sets out for home.

He ruined everything. For a brief, shining moment, Jack had found this incredible, mysterious friend. Something so far out of the realm of his world, but at the same time, the person he's bonded with best in perhaps his entire life. A beautiful, magical friendship to expand his view of reality, all ruined by Jack's horrible habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve. He's been accused of it before, told by a past girlfriend that he throws himself all-in too fast. Maybe it's a lifetime of being passed around by less-than-savory foster parents that's left him so quick to attach himself to the people he sees as good.

Either way, Jack's imagination had taken control and David must have been able to see it in his face. Must've read the curiosity and interest and affection in his eyes. Must've seen and known how terribly wrong it is and run away from the stupid, broken human that turned to a mythical creature for lack of real-world relationships.

Jack scoffs at himself, hitching his backpack higher on his shoulder. Go figure, right? It always seems like whenever Jack finds something good, he finds a way to ruin it just as fast.

The docks are relatively calm at this time of day, most of the ships still out on the water with the whole afternoon left for working. So it surprises Jack when his eyes pan across the harbor only to land on a familiar fishing vessel. A second later, he sees Spot sprinting up the docks from town. "_Hola_, Jacky," the shorter man says, a rare grin on his face. "Whatcha doin' here?"

"Was gonna ask you the same thing," Jack responds. "You guys're back a day early. Somethin' happen?"

"Dude, you're never gonna believe it," Spot says. With a huff of laughter, he grabs Jack by the elbow and starts hauling him along the docks to where the ship's moored. "It's fuckin' insane. You gotta see this." Spot's enthusiasm is infectious, even as Jack can't shake the ominous shiver that rolls down his spine as they reach the ship.

It doesn't help that this is the first time Jack's set foot on the ship since almost drowning, and it sends the memories - along with the accompanying feelings of panic - rushing to the surface.

There are only a few random crew members left, scrambling around finishing up their jobs for the day. Jack can hear them whispering and hissing to each other: "Did you hear that noise?" "What ya think it was, whale or somethin'?" "What's they doin' down there anyway? Ain't they gonna tell us anything?"

The men cast curious glances at Spot, and even more at Jack, as they cross the deck toward the ladder down to cargo. "C'mon, they should'a got it out by now," Spot says, tugging insistently at Jack's arm once they hit the bottom of the ladder. "Weisel was settin' up a tank."

"For what?" Jack asks, surprised and bemused by his normally stoic friend's excitement.

"You ain't gonna believe me if I tell ya," Spot replies with a smirk. "Ya just gotta see it." He leads Jack through the corridors between the enormous vats that are used to store the fish they catch, and the place is full of the sound of splashing and thumping bodies against the steel. Normally it's the first order of business to empty the catch, getting the fish loaded for transfer to their buyers, but there's no one down here working. Instead, Spot leads the way to one of the standard cargo rooms at the end of the ship, the sort of place they use for keeping repair supplies and extra equipment.

There's an eager grin on Spot's face as he pushes the door open and slips inside. The room is lit by only an old, incandescent light bulb that casts a yellow glow over everything. There's a small handful of crew members in the room - their captain, Weisel; a pair of brothers that've been on the ship for ages, Oscar and Morris Delancey; and the ship's owner, Mr. Snyder, a man with cold eyes who's always given Jack the heebies. They are gathered around a glass tank that's wedged up against the wall, and the bottom falls out of Jack's stomach when he sees what's inside.

_Davey_.

The tank is only a few feet square, leaving the merman folded into the space with little room to move, but that isn't stopping him from thrashing furiously, powerful tail slamming against the layered glass. There are bruises scattered across his arms and torso, and it looks like he popped a stitch in his side because narrow ribbons of blood are mixing with the water. His hands are lashed together with heavy ropes, and there's another looped around his mouth, only half-muffling the indignant shrieks as he tries to gnaw at the thick rope between his teeth. He's wild and angry and so utterly trapped.

"Toldja so," Spot says, clapping Jack on the shoulder. "Fuckin' awesome, right?"

Several sets of eyes snap to Jack at once, but there's only one pair that matters. David's enormous blue eyes widen in surprise and then go dark, pain and rage and betrayal flooding through them. The merman's brow furrows and he picks up his thrashing again, throwing his shoulder against the glass over and over.

"What'd ya bring him in for?" Oscar Delancey snaps irritably. There's heavy bandaging wrapped around his forearm, patches of red just starting to seep through. "You wanna tell the whole damn crew?"

"Oh shaddup," Spot replies, glowering. "Jack's part of runnin' this ship more'an you. If you're that worried 'bout shares, I'll split mine with him, ya pansy."

"Shares?" Jack asks, glancing sideways in confusion.

Snyder scoffs. "We've just made the discovery of the century. Do you know how much people - hell, _governments_ \- will pay to get their hands on this little beauty?" Snyder gazes in through the glass almost hungrily, smirking in satisfaction. Jack's stomach churns in horror when he realizes what they're implying; they're going to auction Davey off, and depending on who buys, he'll either wind up some exotic pet in a cage or dissected for science. Staring at the frantic merman in the tank, Jack feels like he could be sick.

"C'mon, now that we've got it settled, we got plans to make," Weisel says. He gestures to the others and they start filing out of the room. Jack can't tear his gaze away from the tank, but he feels Snyder and Oscar's suspicious eyes on his back. If they suspect Jack isn't on their side, they'll never let him near David. They'll make sure he never sees the merman again, and he'll never have an opportunity to help.

So even though it kills him, and the look of crushed defeat on David's face is just another spear in his heart, Jack turns away and follows Spot out. The door shuts behind him with a heavy, definitive _click_. 

* * *

It's night before Jack manages to sneak back down into the ship's hull. The other crewmen in on the scheme clearly don't trust him, deliberately leaving him out of the rotating guard shifts, but also not letting him leave the ship and demanding he turn over his phone. Can't risk him telling people and drawing too much attention before they're ready, he supposes. Trying this now, when the other men are going to be suspicious of his every move, is a dangerous plan, but Jack can't stand the thought of waiting longer.

Not after the afternoon of listening to the crewmen plan what they want to do with Davey, and worse, what they're going to do to keep him under control in the meantime.

Jack waits until Spot is preoccupied on the phone with his husband, trying to explain why he's going to be sleeping on the ship even though they've come back to dock. "Hey, I need a smoke," Jack throws in during a brief lull in the argument. "You wanna-?" Spot waves him off, gesturing to the phone with a weary eye-roll. It's easy enough to fake the laugh, and Jack slips out of the crew cabins where they've been banished for the night.

The deck is empty, bathed in moonlight and wrapped in the familiar sounds of the marina. Jack looks around surreptitiously as he crosses the deck, but there's no one around, and the lights on in the captain's office make him hope they're all holed up in there. It's dark climbing down the ladder into the storage hold, the only light down at the far end outside the door. Jack keeps himself pressed close to the wall, creeping along in the shadows toward the far end.

Morris Delancey is on sentry duty, sitting in an old collapsible chair with his back to the door while he plays on his phone. As Jack gets closer, he can hear the faint sounds of splashing water and muffled squeaks, David still thrashing in the too-small tank presumably. Morris glances over his shoulder at the door after one particularly high squeal and smirks smugly.

Blood humming in rage, Jack darts across the hall while Morris is preoccupied. He manages to slip an arm in around Morris' neck before the man realizes what's happening, and Jack hauls back, tugging the man from his chair and tightening his hold around his throat. Morris flails, clawing at Jack's arm and kicking out enough that he knocks his chair over with a loud clatter, but Jack just locks his arms. It takes a minute for the man's struggling to slow until he finally goes limp in Jack's grip.

Jack crouches, checking to make sure Morris is really unconscious before he deposits his body in a heap. Straightening up, Jack turns toward the door - and straight into the point of a knife.

"Knew we couldn't trust you," Oscar Delancey sneers in his face, shoving Jack backward. Jack staggers back a step, tripping over Morris and falling to the floor. He gasps out when he hits the ground, hand drifting to the shallow knife wound in his side, and glowers up at Oscar. "Knew you was up to something. Had no choice bringing Conlon in since he was here when we found it, but he never should've told you."

"You ain't gettin' away with this," Jack hisses furiously. "I ain't gonna let you hurt him. He's a person, not some fuckin' science experiment."

Oscar scoffs. "It's a wild animal," he counters, holding up his bandaged arm for proof. "And that animal is going to make me rich, so you can either shut the fuck up on your own or I'll make you."

"Youse gonna have to make me then," Jack challenges, watching for his opportunity. He's been in countless street brawls and tussles, a kid with a big mouth and bigger attitude growing up in sketchier parts of New York. He knows how to handle a fight. He just needs an opening. 

"Gladly," Oscar responds with a smirk. He steps forward and Jack seizes his chance. Kicking out, he hooks a leg around one of Oscar's and rolls, sending the other man crashing down to his side. Before Oscar can regain his bearings, Jack scrambles on top of him and grabs the wrist still clutching the knife. Then Oscar slams his head up into Jack's face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack, and Jack reels backward.

Oscar uses his advantage to roll them again and Jack only just manages to twist aside enough to avoid being stabbed through the collar. The knife shreds a line across his shoulder and Jack can't completely hold back his yelp. Jack grabs onto Oscar's wrist again, forcing the knife away from his face, and then punches up with the other hand.

It's a frantic, lopsided struggle, Oscar pushing down to try and stab every inch of Jack he can reach while Jack fights to keep the knife back and repeatedly punches Oscar in the face with the other hand. Four blows in, Oscar's grip shifts just slightly and Jack lunges at it, twisting Oscar's wrist. The knife clatters to the ground, and in the next breath, Jack rolls them one last time, hauls back, and socks Oscar as hard as he can across the face. The man's head bounces off the steel floor from the impact and he finally goes still.

Breathing hard, Jack untangles himself and awkwardly stands, only now feeling a dozen cuts and stabs that litter his chest and arms. None of them are anything close to lethal, but they still don't feel great, just like the broken nose that's dripping blood down his chin. Jack shakes his head and picks up the discarded knife. He'll live, he can worry about that later. First, he's got to get Davey out of here before anyone comes to investigate the noise.

If Jack thought that seeing David in the tank before was awful, it's nothing to what he finds this time. The top of the tank has been removed, and there's a chaotic mess of ropes pinning the merman in place across the opening. A rope around his neck is tied down over one corner of the tank, forcing his head to bend back at a painful angle over the ledge, while another has pulled his bound wrists toward the other corner, contorting his upper body. A trio of ropes are looped around his tail, lashed down over the other end of the tank, and there's so little slack that only his twisted waist and hips are in the water still.

"_Pedejos_," Jack snarls, starting for the tank. "Stupid, sick motherfuckers." As he walks, he lets out a steady stream of every foul name he can think of, in both English and Spanish.

David recoils as much as he can in that position when Jack approaches, emitting another shrill shriek through the loops of cord tied around his mouth. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his wide eyes are fixed on the knife in Jack's hand in obvious terror. "Hey, whoa, hey, it's just me, Davey," Jack says. He reaches out with his other hand and brushes his knuckles across the merman's cheekbone in a soothing gesture that still makes Davey flinch again. "It's me, _amigo_. S'just Jack. I'mma getcha outta this mess, 'kay? Just hold still, I'mma getcha out."

Jack moves around to the head of the tank and immediately saws through the rope around Davey's neck. Once that's done, he grabs the one holding his tied wrists in place and cuts it off too. David slips his upper body down into the water, his bound hands tugging the loop of rope off his neck. While he's doing that, Jack goes to cut loose the ropes on his tail, but something makes him pause.

There on the side of the merman's tail is a patch of missing scales, the blued flesh beneath lined with cuts.

"That son of a bitch," Jack breathes in horror when his eyes land on the tiny pile of scales on the floor by the tank. That explains the complex web of ropes, why they tied him into a ridiculous position instead of just leaving him in the tank like they had earlier. They'd lashed him down in a way he wouldn't be able to fight back so they could pry off a fucking souvenir.

"Jesus Christ, Davey, I'm so sorry," Jack murmurs. He rubs his palm reassuringly over the sleek scales just above the tailfin before he starts cutting away these ropes too. "_Lo siento_, I'mma getcha outta here, I promise."

The moment the last of the ropes is gone, the merman folds himself down into the water, long body tucked back against the wall of the tank, not that there's far to go. "Wouldja come here? Lemme get those ropes off your face," Jack says, but David just continues to glare at him with those fierce blue eyes. There's more fear and distrust in his gaze now than Jack's ever seen. Huffing a breath, Jack wipes his bleeding nose on his sleeve. "Fine, I'm comin' to you then."

Heaving himself over the edge of the tank, Jack half-falls into the salty water. It burns through the open wounds on his torso but Jack grits his teeth through the pain. Planting a foot on either side of the merman's waist, Jack takes a deep breath and ducks under the water. His body displaces it, waves splashing up over the sides of the tank, as he kneels and grabs for the closest bit of rope he can find.

David thrashes uncertainly when Jack curls his fingers in the ropes around his wrists, but Jack ignores him, wedging the blade into a gap and sawing at the sodden cords. These take longer, the ropes soft and bloated with water, but he gets through it just as his lungs are aching for air. Jack stands, sucking in a breath, and laboriously unwinds the ropes from the merman's wrists.

Once his hands are free, Davey fists one in the front of Jack's shirt, his sharp nails tearing the fabric. "Whoa, hey, what's that 'bout?" Jack asks as he catches his balance against the edge of the tank. David's eyes are narrowed in suspicion and the answer comes to Jack with a sharp lurch of betrayal. "Hey, I didn't have nothin' to do with this," he says, gesturing broadly over the tank and ropes. "I'm tryna help. I'm tryna getcha home. You gonna hold still so I can get that rope off your face without hurtin' ya?"

Davey watches him apprehensively, but he obligingly doesn't move as Jack carefully cuts through the rope wound around his mouth. They've obviously replaced it at some point because the rope is thicker than before and there are fewer bite marks in it. Jack wonders if maybe David managed to gnaw through the other one. Either way, the moment he's done, Jack drops the knife over the ledge of the tank and helps Davey pull away the loops of rope.

"How did they find me?" David asks hoarsely, his fingers still clenched in Jack's shirt. "_Your_ fishers kind, they were hunting near my pod. How did they find us?"

"I dunno," Jack says. "What, you think _I_ told 'em? I don't even know where your pod is, _stupido_, ya never told me that." The merman's rage flickers for a second like that's just occurred to him. Then his eyes seem to scour over Jack, taking in his bleeding nose and the cuts that litter his torso, and his frown twists further. "Look, I dunno how they gotcha, but we gotta get you outta here before someone comes lookin'." David finally releases his grip on Jack's shirt, and the human climbs out of the half-empty tank.

Of course, then Jack realizes they've got an entirely different problem: how the hell he's supposed to get a good seven feet of merman up out of the hold and off the ship.

"Shit," Jack hisses, looking around the room. "There's gotta be a cart or somethin'. How the fuck'd they get you down here in the first place?"

"I was carried," David says, face screwed up indignantly. "They held me with nets and their burning hands."

Jack curses again, carding a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I didn't plan this far," he says, frustrated. "I just wanted to getcha outta here. We ain't gonna have long 'fore those two wake up. _Merda_, wonder if-"

"Come here," Davey says, holding out a hand and gesturing Jack closer. "Can you get me out of this cage?"

"Sure, but I don't think I'll be able to carry you all the way," Jack says. He leans in, tucking one arm under the merman's shoulders and another beneath his tail, and David wraps his arms around Jack's neck. Bracing himself, Jack heaves his cool body out of the low water. Davey's even heavier than he expected, the weight of his long, muscular tail nearly making Jack stagger sideways.

"That's fine, just here," David says. Jack casts him a bemused look but he kneels down, laying the merman's body onto the damp metal floor. "Now I need you to cover my mouth."

"The fuck?" Jack asks skeptically. "_Por que?_ Why?"

"Because I'm going to try something, and if it works, it's likely going to hurt," Davey says, narrowed blue eyes latching onto Jack's. "You said we must be quiet. So cover my mouth."

"Davey, _que_-?" Jack cuts off when the merman gives him another caustic look. It's not like they have a lot of other options at the moment. So Jack slides around to cradle David's skull on his thighs, hand hovering uncertainly above his face. Davey nods and forces Jack's hand down against his mouth. Then the merman squeezes his eyes shut, his forehead furrowed in concentration.

Jack is just about to ask what's supposed to be happening when David suddenly bows up off the ground with a scream. Startled, Jack pushes his hand down hard over the merman's mouth, the other arm settling across Davey's chest in an attempt to keep him still. David seizes, his eyes rolling upward, and his nails shriek as they attempt to claw into the metal, and then Jack sees it. A line of silver races up the center of Davey's tail, dividing it perfectly in half. As the merman's body quakes, Jack watches in horror as his tailfin splits down the middle.

"Shit, Davey, what're you-?" Jack gasps out but he can barely hear himself over the merman's muffled shrieks and the thump of his body against the steel. The divide spreads upward, slicing the tail clean in two, and as it does, the halves seem to shrink, the fin folding in on itself and the tail shriveling.

It feels like it takes forever, but it's only a minute later when Davey slumps, body wracked with tremors and breathing heavily. In place of his tail, David now has two long, scrawny legs, the skin a kaleidoscope of blues except along the insides, where it's flushed red and raw. There are little patches of scale staggered along the bare legs and on the tops of his flat feet, which end in long, webbed toes.

"What the fuck just happened?" Jack asks, awed.

Davey pries Jack's hand off his mouth and, voice rough, says, "It worked." Honestly, he sounds even more surprised than Jack feels.

"_Si_, I can see that, thanks," Jack snaps. "But _what_ worked?"

"We don't have time to discuss myth right now," David points out dryly. Even though his body is still shaking, Davey sits up, running his hands tentatively over his legs. Jack sort of can't stop staring either, his brain struggling to catch up. It also occurs to him that Davey is very, _very_ naked, and Jack wishes he had one of his baggy old hoodies with him even though he figures modesty is the least of their concerns right now. 

David abruptly clears his throat and turns his gaze to Jack. "Help me?" Jack immediately pulls the merman's arm over his shoulders and stands, supporting Davey's weight as he struggles to get his newly-acquired legs to cooperate. "I need to go. I need to warn my pod to leave. They are not safe here."

"Don't worry, I'mma getcha home," Jack says. He only makes it two steps before Jack pauses, his eyes falling on the little pile of stolen scales again. Awkwardly bracing David up with one arm, Jack scoops the scales up and jams them into his pocket. "Those fuckers don't getta keep these," he snarls in answer to Davey's questioning look. "C'mon." 

Jack's still carrying most of the merman's weight as they slip out of the storeroom. Oscar and Morris are still sprawled out on the hall floor, the former's split lip bleeding, and Jack pointedly kicks him in the face as they pass in retaliation for Davey's scales. At his side, David huffs a small, pleased noise.

Just as they're reaching the end of the hall, someone jumps heavily down off the ladder. "Oh, hey Cowboy, was wonderin'-" Spot falls silent when his eyes land on David, and his brow furrows. "_Quien es_ \- wait, is that-?"

Davey shrinks against Jack's side and hisses, baring his teeth dangerously. "His name's David," Jack hurries to explain in a whisper, holding up a hand between them. "He's my friend, Spot. He's the one that saved me when I fell overboard." Spot meets Jack's gaze in surprise. "Please, Spot, I gotta get him outta here."

"Jack?" Davey asks uncertainly, gripping Jack's arm with shaking fingers.

"It talks," Spot says, eyes wide. "And it has _legs_ now?" He glances between Jack and David. "Cowboy, you know what they's gonna do to you for this, right? They ain't just gonna let it go. Gonna be lucky if ya just lose the job."

"I don't care," Jack responds, jaw set determinedly. "I'm not letting them hurt him. He saved my life."

Spot seems to consider this for a second, his features harsh in the dim light, and then he nods. They all flinch at the sound of a loud groan from the other end of the hall, and Jack's heart jumps into his throat. "Go," Spot says firmly. "I'll keep 'em off ya back. _Buena suerte._" Jack gives him a grateful smile, and Spot squeezes his shoulder in acknowledgment as he passes.

"C'mon," Jack says, guiding the merman toward the ladder. Jack considers it for a moment, eyeing Davey and the towering rungs of metal. "Think you can manage?"

David looks up at the ladder and locks his jaw. Instead of answering, he shifts his arm from Jack's shoulder to grab the ladder rungs. Davey hauls, lifting his weight with just his arms, and manages to pull himself up several rungs before Jack can even react. 

"Guess that works," Jack murmurs, shaking his head and he climbs onto the ladder behind him. The merman is panting, tendons jumping in his neck and arms as he scales the ladder with mostly just his upper body, and Jack stays just below him to help catch his weight in case he slips. It's a welcome relief when they finally reach the top, and Davey crawls onto the landing ahead of Jack. 

"A'most there, Davey," Jack says, giving himself a second to catch his breath. The knife wound in his side and the one on his shoulder are hurting, but Jack figures he's still got to be doing better than David at this point. The merman's normally pale face is flushed with exertion and his entire body is still shaking, his legs worst of all. "Hey, that ain't permanent, right?" Jack asks, nodding toward the blue limbs.

"I don't think so," Davey says, biting his lip. Jack raises his eyebrows in shock and the merman huffs. "It's not every day I attempt magic from the old legends. I always thought it was just a story, I didn't even know it worked. I didn't think I lo-" The merman abruptly cuts himself off, dropping his gaze. He takes a deep breath and then holds his hands out, clearly asking for help up. Letting the subject drop, Jack hauls Davey upright and drags an arm over his shoulders again.

David takes a deep breath when they step out onto the deck, his eyes fluttering as he inhales the scent of the ocean. "Just a bit further," Jack says encouragingly. They can do this. They just need to get to the gangplank and they're home free, safe to get down to the beach and try to figure out how to fix what Davey did to himself.

"Kelly!"

They both jump at the voice that cuts through the cold night air. Pausing, Jack glances over his shoulder and sees Weisel and Snyder standing outside the captain's office, the light from the room casting their hulking shadows across the deck. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Kelly?" Weisel asks menacingly.

"I'm doin' what's right," Jack snarls back.

"You won't get away with this," Snyder says, and he lifts a gun, flicking the safety off pointedly. "We're not letting you."

Jack looks around anxiously. They're still twenty yards from the nearest gangplank, but the rear railing of the ship is only ten feet away, and from there, it's a straight drop into the water. He just needs to get the merman close enough to jump. Shifting his body so that Davey's half-shielded behind him, Jack takes a couple small, shuffling steps backward. "Ya can't do this," Jack says angrily. "He's a person and you wanna sell him off for some mad scientist to cut him open. That's fuckin' wrong."

"You never have had the stomach for this work," Snyder drawls condescendingly. "That's why you just play with your little toys, isn't it? Can't handle getting your hands dirty."

"If this's your idea of gettin' hands dirty, then you're fuckin' right," Jack agrees. _Keep them focused on the words, don't let them notice you gradually shuffling back toward the rail._ Jack can feel David's fingers digging into his biceps, the shaking merman pressed against his back and breathing in short, frantic gasps. "I ain't gonna stand by and let you sell off a person to be murdered."

"It's not a person, Kelly," Weisel counters. "It's a fuckin' fish."

The loud pop of a gunshot makes Jack start, and the bullet sends out sparks as it clips the ground just a few inches from Jack's shoes. "Stop moving," Snyder says, eyes narrowed. "Drop the fish and step away or the next one won't be a warning shot."

"Jack?" Davey whispers, and it's full of terror and desperation.

"You're not takin' him," Jack says vehemently. "I ain't lettin' you." Then he pivots sharply, scoops Davey into his arms, and sprints for the rail.

The whip-crack of gunshots follow, several of them in quick succession, and Jack's torso erupts into fire. Someone screams his name but he's not sure who, his mind spinning with the sudden pain. He stumbles and collides with the rail, David slipping from his arms with a startled shriek, and then momentum carries him forward over the railing too. Body screaming in agony, Jack has the distracted thought that this story that began with him falling overboard is about to end the same way.

He's unconscious before he hits the water. 

* * *

"Jack-Kelly?"

"_Merda_, he's losin' a lotta blood."

"Please, friend-Jack, please wake up."

"Dontcho dare die, asshole."

The world is numb, all of his nerves deadened, leaving him nothing more than an untethered consciousness. It's almost calming, in a way, the chill that's sunk all the way into his bones and turned his body to stone. The only thing he can feel as he struggles to make sense of the voices around him is something smooth and cool beneath his cheek and a soft touch brushing through his hair.

Then there's a sudden pressure on his back and Jack's body explodes into flames, four spots of piercing agony like knives of white-hot metal boring through him. His scream catches in his throat, a strangled noise of pain that tastes like copper. It takes a minute for the blinding flash of white in his brain to fade enough to be conscious of anything else, and the first thing he's aware of are fingers cradling his cheek delicately, a thumb sweeping a steady pattern beneath his eye.

"Fuck. We gotta get him to a hospital. Think that one might'a clipped his lung."

"Jack-Kelly, please."

"Davey?" Jack murmurs, although it barely comes out above a whisper and his tongue feels too thick in his mouth. It's only when he feels the warm moisture roll over his lips that he realizes it's because his mouth is full of blood. He tries to take a breath but it feels like he can't pull in enough air and it sets his torso on fire again.

"Easy, Cowboy," another voice says from behind him and Jack's brain takes a second to drag up the name attached: Spot. "You caught a couple slugs, youse in pretty bad shape. Fuck, I'mma kill Snyder m'self."

Even though it feels like they weigh a thousand pounds, Jack forces his eyes open and his vision is instantly filled with the beautiful shimmer of navy blue edged in silver. "S'pretty," he mumbles distractedly. "Davey - safe?"

The hand against his cheek is shaking while the other continues to pet his hair reassuringly. "You saved my life, Jack," David says, and his voice is strangely thick too. "I'm safe. But I need you to be safe now too. Please, be safe."

Jack exhales gratefully. Davey is safe. Davey is free.

"Hang in there, Jacky," Spot says. "We's gonna get ya to a doc and you'll be fine. Just hang in there."

"Cold," Jack says, and his body is wracked with it but he's too exhausted to shiver. His skin feels like it's coated in ice and the claws of it jabbing into his bone no longer feel good, stabbing in like needles. Jack blinks, taking stock of his body, and something else sends a thrill of terror through him. "Can't feel m'legs. Spot, _no puedo sentir mis piernas._"

"What?" Jack can hear Spot moving, but his touch disappears from Jack's back. A moment later Spot lets out a stream of panicked cursing in Spanish. "This one must've hit his spine," he says, and his voice is trembling. "We can't - if we move him more it could kill him."

"You said he needs a healer," David interjects sharply. "He is bleeding."

"I know!" Spot shouts in frustration. "But I can't get him all the way back to the city by myself if he can't walk, and moving him if he's got a bullet in his spine is just gonna make it worse. And my phone is fucked from jumpin' in the water after ya, I can't call for the Coast Guard or harbor police. No one - no one's gonna get here in time."

The reality settles over Jack - he's going to die - and somehow it just releases the knot in his chest. "S'okay," Jack breathes. "M'okay. Long's youse safe."

"No." The merman's voice is fierce, and he tips Jack's head so that he's looking up into those endlessly blue eyes. "No, you will _not_ die."

"S'fine, ain't s'posed to be 'live anyway, 'member?" Jack says and manages a hint of a smile. "Ya gimme long 'nough to return the favor."

"Shaddup!" Spot snaps. "Goddammit, Cowboy, stop it."

Jack's focus is starting to slip, black creeping into the edges of his vision. "Ya tail?" he asks curiously. "S'it-?"

"It is healing," David says. "Started as soon as I touched the water." When Jack flexes his hand imploringly, the merman grabs Jack's wrist, moving it onto his tail - which Jack finally realizes is where his cheek's been resting this whole time - so he can feel the spread of hard scales and the knotty ridge of scarring in the middle. "But that is not important right now. Please, stay awake."

Relieved, Jack exhales, but it prompts a fit of coughing that turns his body into pain again. It feels like it takes years before he can catch his breath, and the taste of blood is worse, thick ribbons of it trailing over his lips. When he blinks his eyes, Jack gazes up into those blue eyes and is surprised to see diamonds glittering along the merman's lashes. "You cryin'?" Jack asks, bemused. "Thought ya couldn't?"

Davey's lips quiver. "I said it serves no purpose, not that I can't."

"Least I ain't drownin' then," Jack mutters with a smile.

The merman's eyes widen suddenly. "I might - I think I might be able to save him," David says, glancing between Jack and where he's assuming Spot is at. "There might be a way, but-?"

"But?" Spot prompts pointedly.

"It will hurt," Davey answers, grimacing. "A lot. And if it works, there is no coming back." His eyes go back to Jack, stroking his cheek tenderly. "You will not be able to come back to the Two-tail lands."

"Where-?" Jack asks in confusion.

"You will be with the fin-kind," the merman says. "You will stay in the sea forever."

Jack rolls the idea through his head, fighting to process it with his fuzzy thoughts. He seizes onto the memory of being suspended in the ocean, of that moment of glorious peace as he hung, weightless, in the infinite horizons of blue. Then he imagines his unfinished sketch, David's beautiful form spread and glorious in the water. "With you?" Jack asks. The merman's lips twitch fondly and he nods. "M'kay."

Davey bites his lip. "I cannot know if it will work," he cautions. "If it does not, you will die."

"Gonna die anyway," Jack murmurs.

"Do it," Spot urges.

"You will not see him again," David says, meeting Spot's gaze again.

"I don't care," Spot says firmly. "Better that than dead. Just," he pauses and clears his throat, "if it don't work, will ya - can ya bring him back ta' me? So I can put him to rest, and make sure Snyder goes ta' jail for it?"

The merman nods. "You have my word."

"'Kay, whaddya need?" Spot says, gripping Jack's shoulder, and his hand is so warm on frozen skin that it almost hurts.

Davey sets his jaw. "Get these wrappings off," he tugs pointedly at Jack's jeans, "and bring him to the water."

"Sorry, Cowboy, this's gonna hurt," Spot says, hands jumping to the button of Jack's jeans. As his friend hastily strips off his pants and underwear - and Jack can't feel the slide of the fabric, which just makes him scared - Jack doesn't even have enough consciousness to be embarrassed. Then Spot slides the hem of his shirt up, working it over his head, and Jack cries out when the movement jars the bullet wounds. "_Lo sé, lo siento._"

An arm hooks across his back, igniting the fire under his skin, and Jack can only summon up a broken whine when he's lifted from the ground. Jack blinks, getting his first look at Spot. There are streaks of blood on his face, and his wet hair is plastered to his forehead. The man's face is closed off, that familiar stern focus, but there is moisture on his cheeks that Jack is fairly certain has nothing to do with the sea. 

Spot catches his gaze and smirks. "Next time try and avoid the bullets, wouldja?"

"Don't think there's gonna be next time," Jack points out before he descends into hacking coughs, his mouth flooding with blood. Then the waves reach him, the salt burning into his back, and it steals his breath all over again.

"Shh, Jack-Kelly. Soon you will not hurt." Jack claws his way back to consciousness and finds himself only inches from David, his vision filled with nothing but those too-blue eyes. The merman is holding him afloat in the water with one arm, his abdominal muscles flexing against Jack's body as he works his tail to tread water, while the other hand drags his knuckles over Jack's cheek. Davey blinks and more tears roll down his cheeks. "Soon you will be at peace."

"Spot?" Jack asks, his gaze flicking around.

A hand settles on Jack's shoulder. "Right here, _hermano_. Don't worry 'bout me. Just hang in, 'kay? And - _te extrañaré, idiota_." Spot clears his throat. "I'mma hang 'round, so lemme know if it works?"

David nods and then he pulls Jack closer to his body, swimming further out into the water. Jack can do nothing more than hold on, numb fingers gripping the merman's upper arms. The saltwater licks at his wounds, a constant whirling inferno crawling over his spine, and his lower body hangs limp and useless behind him. Jack's brain is full of fog and shadows, and it's only the sound of his name that pulls him back to the moment. "Jack? Stay with me, friend-Jack," Davey is saying, cradling Jack's face in those powerful, long-fingered hands. He offers a shaky smile when Jack manages to meet his gaze. "I do not want to lose you, but I need you to be sure. Do you want this?"

"I want - _you_," Jack says decisively because there's no point keeping that to himself anymore. He thinks of the indefinable pull, that unexplainable connection that he's forged with the merman unlike anyone else in his life. Jack's never been one to believe in things like love in first sight, but then he never used to believe in mermaids either, and ever since that first moment he looked into those eyes as wide and blue as the ocean itself, Jack's been lost. "With you, that's - good."

"That's good," Davey agrees, lips quivering. "I knew I could not leave you behind from that first time I saw you, Jack-Kelly. I knew that you were important, felt it inside. I could not do these magics without you. My Two-tail." Smiling, Jack fights through the tremors in his muscles to slip his hand from the merman's bicep to his cheek, sweeping his thumb over that scale-freckled cheekbone affectionately. "I need you to ask, Jack," the merman says, voice choked. "Ask me to save you. Ask me to keep you."

Somewhere far in the back of his mind, the comment triggers a memory but he can't grasp it. Jack can hardly manage the breath to talk, his lungs swimming with blood and water, and his voice is barely more than a garbled whisper when he drops his forehead weakly against the merman's. "Save me, Davey? Wanna stay with ya. Please?"

David surges forward, capturing Jack's mouth in a bruising kiss. His lips are cold and Jack's mouth still tastes like copper, but he dazedly thinks if this is how he's gonna die, it's not so bad. Still cupping Jack's face in his hands, Davey sinks them beneath the surface, the frigid water washing over Jack's head and leeching the last of the heat from his body. There's a strange hum inside his mind, a sparking, alien light that evaporates his thoughts before he can form them.

Then the merman's sharp nails stab into the sides of his skull, piercing clean through the soft skin behind his ears like knives. Jack gasps into David's mouth at the unexpected pain, which triggers more coughing, but Davey doesn't release him, keeping their lips firmly sealed together even as Jack is sure he's about to choke on his own blood. The pain only gets worse when the nails move, dragging downward to claw his flesh open in harsh lines that follow the curve of his hairline.

Davey exhales, breathing into Jack, and it's like a gust of wind over a wildfire to that hazy buzzing in his skull. Sparks and light pour through him, filling every inch of his body with the dazzling _something_. It courses through him the way he's always heard frostbite described, so bitterly cold that it burns. Electricity shoots through his bones, lightning bolts shattering and exploding them into sharp, piercing fragments that crawl under his skin like bugs. Absolutely everything is agony and he wishes longingly for that numbness from before.

It's too much, pain crushing him from every direction, and he just knows this is the end. There's no way to survive this. At this point, death will be a mercy.

_Stay with me, Jack-Kelly. Please. Come back to me._

The voice is inside of him, filling his head and pushing back the overwhelming light. Jack knows that voice, trusts that voice to save him. That's the voice that won't let him drown. If Jack can only reach it, he will be safe. Lost in the maelstrom of his body, Jack fights through the pain, kicks out for the surface even as everything else tries to pull him down into the never-ending darkness.

_Davey?_

Jack can see nothing but shadows, and then suddenly there's the bluest blue and a tender hand cradling his cheek. _Stay with me, Jack, and I will keep you._

Eyes fluttering shut as the darkness finally wins, Jack breathes. 

* * *

** Epilogue **

"But the merman couldn't stand to see his human dying, couldn't live in a world without the human he loved. So he carried the human out into the middle of the ocean and kissed him, filling the human with his magic, and they lived happily ever after."

"Papi tells it better."

Spot grins in satisfaction as his husband sends an indignant look his way. "You know why?" Tony says, his gaze slipping back down to his audience. "That's because your Papi is a drama queen."

Scoffing, Spot scoops up the little girl and swings her around onto his back. Six-year-old Brooklyn Conlon squeals, clinging to his neck as she hooks her legs around his ribs. "Hold on tight, _mija_," Spot cautions as he steps down off the road, turning onto the rocky incline that leads down to the beach. 

It's barely sunrise now, the summer sky a kaleidoscope of red and gold, and the docks are mostly empty with the majority of the ships out to sea already. There's a comfortable peace to it all, this tentative gap between night and day, and Spot adjusts his grip on Brooklyn as he reaches the sand.

"You wanna know why I _really_ tell it better?" Spot says, glancing back to the face nestled on his shoulder. "'Cause I was there."

"Nuh-_uhn_," Brooklyn replies with all the haughtiness that only a child can manage, and he can see her patronizing look in the corner of his eye. As much as their girl might look more like Spot - her biological parents were from El Salvador, so she's got similar Hispanic features - she's definitely taking after Tony in regards to the sass. "S'not a real story, silly. My teacher says mermaids ain't real."

Spot scoffs. "And who's you gonna believe: grumpy ol' Mr. Kloppmann or your Papi?"

"He's tellin' the truth, princess," Tony chips in from behind. It's getting close to high tide and they have to walk single file down the narrow strip of beach to stay out of the rising waves. 

"Fo'real?" Brooklyn asks, her arms tightening around Spot's neck in her eagerness.

"Fo'real," Spot agrees. "And we're gonna show you somethin' very, _very_ special, but first you gotta promise you can keep a secret. Can ya do that? 'Cause you can't tell _anyone_."

Brooklyn scrunches up her nose thoughtfully. "Not even Dr. Crutchie?"

"Not even Crutchie," Tony confirms solemnly. "It's a very special secret that's only for our family, okay?"

After a long moment where Brooklyn considers the request very seriously, the girl nods. "Promise."

"That'a girl," Spot says approvingly. "'Kay, we're almost there. Just hang on and we'll show ya."

The hike up the beach takes long enough that the sun's risen and Brooklyn has started nodding off before they reach the right spot. Tony does a quick check to make sure that the little hollow in the side of the cliff is empty, then gives Spot a quick nod. "Hey, wake up, _mija,_" Spot says, jostling Brooklyn gently where she's still draped over his back. "We's here."

"Where?" Brooklyn asks blearily, taking one arm off his neck to rub her eyes.

"Ya see this li'l cave here?" Spot says. "This is a very special place. Every five years, on the longest day of the year, somethin' magic happens right here. You were just a baby the last time, but this time you're big enough to know. Cover ya ears, Brooks." 

The girl immediately does as she's told, and Spot digs an old silver whistle from his pocket. Exchanging a brief, conspiratorial look with his husband, Spot lifts the whistle to his lips and blows three long, piercing notes. "Okay," Spot says, nudging Brooklyn to let her know it's safe to uncover her ears. "Now it might take a sec so ya gotta be patient, but I wantcha to watch the water straight out there, 'kay?"

"Why?" Brooklyn asks, propping her chin on his shoulder again.

"That's the surprise," Spot says, grinning. "But it's gonna be worth it, promise."

Their little family waits, alone on the sand as the waves lap up over the adults' ankles. Spot glances from his husband, who's watching Brooklyn with a fond smile, to their daughter's profile squinting out at the water attentively. All things considered, for a scrappy Mexican foster kid that no one expected to go far, Spot thinks he's doing pretty good for himself.

Brooklyn's gasp suddenly shatters the quiet, and Spot tightens his grip when she bounces in her attempt to see better. Spot lifts his gaze to the horizon just in time to catch a glimmer slipping back into the surf. "Papi, papi, didja see?" the girl asks eagerly, tugging at his sleeve. "What was that?"

"Magic," Spot responds with a grin. Behind him, Race snorts and mutters something that sounds distinctly like, "_drama queen._" Spot flips him off behind his back where Brooklyn won't see. "See, that's the secret. That story 'bout the merman and the human that fell in love? It really happened. I was there, saw it with my own eyes. This necklace," Spot pulls the leather cord out from beneath the collar of his shirt, showing the little blue scale that hangs from it, "this is a real mermaid scale. And they had to run away to escape the bad guys, but ev'ry five years, you can see 'em if you know where to look."

"Was that mermans?" Brooklyn asks, wide-eyed.

"C'mon, why dontcha see for ya'self?" Spot says. Turning for the little hollow, he adds, "Watch your head," and then ducks into the cave. It's a little awkward, shuffling along the narrow pathway that curves around the edge of the cave with Brooklyn hanging off his shoulders, but Spot manages to reach the semi-circle of sand without incident. As Tony follows them in, Spot lifts Brooklyn down off his back. Spot sits near the edge of the water and pats the place next to him. Brooklyn flops down and Tony settles on her other side, promptly toeing out of his wet shoes.

"Do you _really_ know mermans?" Brooklyn asks imploringly.

Spot smiles, shucking off his shoes and socks. "Course, I wouldn't lie to ya," he says. "The human from that story, his name's Jack. He's my friend, we worked on a ship togetha long time ago. And one day, he fell overboard, and everyone thought he was gonna drown, but a merman saw him in the water and saved him. The merman's name's Davey, and after he saved Jack, they became friends.

"And they loved each other so much that when Davey got trapped by fishers, Jack risked his life to save him. Jack got hurt really bad, but Davey didn't want to lose him, so he used magic to save his human again, and he took him away to live in the ocean with him forever." Spot sees a faint shimmer in the corner of his eye, and he grins. "Ain't that right, Cowboy?"

Turning back to the water, Brooklyn gasps and skitters up into Tony's lap nervously. Two heads break the surface of the water, one right after the other; the first is pale and angular, with enormous sapphire eyes, and the second is a soft tan with big brown eyes striped with gold. "It's okay, baby, they won't hurtcha," Tony says reassuringly.

Smiling, the darker merman folds his arms, edged with small fins of brown spines with stretchs of pale gold skin between, on the edge of the beach. His black hair is a bit shaggy, staggered with a handful of random tiny braids tied with odd bits, and just long enough that it mostly covers the slightly uneven row of gills behind his ears. He has the same white-less eyes, and below the water, his waist melds into a gleaming golden tail. Offering a hopeful smile, he says, "You must be Brooklyn."

"You know my name?" the girl asks, still not extracting herself from the safety of Tony's arms.

The two merman exchange amused glances, and Spot knows they're doing that thing where they talk without words again. "Course I do. Your dads wouldn't shut up 'bout ya the last time we was here. They was so excited to tell us all 'bout their pretty new baby; _su precioso ángel_. But look at you, you're not a baby no more, huh?"

Brooklyn darts a look at Spot, who nods in encouragement. The girl licks her lips and then holds up fingers. "Six."

"Six now? Wow. Well, it's real nice to meetcha, Brooklyn. This is Davey," he sets a hand on the blue-eyed merman's shoulder, giving him a fond smile, "And my name's Jack."

Eyes so wide they're almost perfect circles, Brooklyn glances from her dads to the mermen. Then, in a breathless whisper, "It's _real_." 

**Author's Note:**

> TW: descriptions of near-drowning, graphic injury, kidnapping, physical and weapon violence, mild torture, self-mutilation, and (briefly) implied character death. (This makes it sound way darker than it is.)


End file.
